


Blue Boxes and Golden Balls

by hawkeblocke



Category: Assassin's Creed, Doctor Who
Genre: Apple of Eden shenanigans, Daddy stuff, Domestic life is cute, Family Fluff, Multi, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeblocke/pseuds/hawkeblocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apple of Eden has been attracting a lot of unwanted attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tickle Monster

**Author's Note:**

> There are monsters under the bed.

_The Apple of Eden contains many things_ , Altaïr mused, stating as much on the parchment at his desk. ' _Past. Present. Future. All I thought I knew of the world has been proven a folly, or only a fraction of the truth. I fear... I am not alone. Not truly. The Apple says- implies as much. But when I try to prod, to dig deeper, it is still no more than a whisper. But it is all the same. An impossible blue box, the mad man who lives inside, and the end of time._ '

"Come to bed."

Altaïr jumped,  knocking over the inkwell he'd just gone to dip his pen into, black ink spilling over the pages and the words that they contained. It had not been the first time, no, but when he turned in his chair to face the woman behind him, the guilt was as sharp and as fresh as if it _were_ the first time. He rubbed sleep from his eyes in vain- frankly, he could feel the shadow of age looming, like the golden orb that rested idly in his palm had been draining him of energy so that he could barely move. 

"Sef wants you again, tonight," Maria said, offering him a tolerant hand which he took. "I could not get him to sleep this time."

"What was it of tonight?" Altaïr asked, following his wife to their shared room. It seemed to him that they hardly ever shared the same bed anymore, something he wanted so desperately to change. When Maria didn't answer, he let out a long sigh. "The monsters again?"

"He said they lacked faces,"

"I have never met a monster who did not have the face of a man," Altaïr murmured, though more to himself.

"Hmm, you should tell that to our son," Maria replied, and Altaïr opened the door to their room, the boy that sat atop the bed clutched the blankets around him tightly, as if that might shield him from whatever monsters that lurked in the dark. 

He ran into Altaïr's open arms when he saw him, and buried his face in his chest.

Altaïr rested his chin lightly on the boy's head, arms engulfing him in a protective embrace briefly before holding him back enough to see his face.

The child resisted with a whimper, his father only succeeding in making him bury himself even deeper in the comforting arms of the man.

Sighing, the assassin- no, father.- tightened his grip reassuringly around his son. "It was only a dream," he tried, earning a shake of the head from Sef, along with a few muffled, indistinguishable words. "You must speak louder if you wish your father to hear, Sef. I cannot read your thoughts, no matter how well my hearing may be," he was careful to drain the harshness from his words as he made his way to sit on the edge of the bed, adjusting Sef more comfortably on his lap. "What is it?"

This time Sef shifted so that he wasn't talking against his father's chest. "There were metal monsters, with one eye that glowed and they had horrible voices that were scary," he stopped, and Altaïr had to prompt him for more. "They were fighting grey men without faces."

"Creatures like that do not exist,"  Altaïr said, rubbing the boy's arm, "and even so, you have nothing to fear. And why is that?"

"Because papa wouldn't let anything bad happen."

"That's right, because I love you, and your brother, and your mother very, _very_ much, and not anyone, or anything will ever get past me to hurt you." Altaïr gave his son a light shake and hugged him to his chest once more. "Besides, the only monster you will have to worry about tonight," he spoke with obviously feigned threat, but it was enough to make Sef look sharply up at him. "Is the one that tickles," that was all the warning his son got before his father's  fingers were upon him, striking all the places that reduced him to a giggling mess. Sef pushed at his chest in an attempt to squirm free of his father's assault, but even as his back hit the bed Altaïr kept at it until Sef had forgotten entirely of the horrors in his dream. 

Only then did Altaïr relent, kissing his son's forehead. "Do you want to sleep with us tonight?" Sef nodded, still giggling. "Come here, then." Altaïr said after pulling off his armor and robes. The little boy scooted closer, cuddling in between his parents with a  yawn, falling asleep shortly thereafter.

Altaïr stayed awake long after, however, staring up at the ceiling, absently running a hand through Maria's hair. When the woman stirred, Altaïr was torn into the present, waking world. "I'm sorry if I've disturbed you, _habibti_ ," he murmured, looking past the sleeping form of their youngest son to gaze at Maria, who simply smiled back at him knowingly.

"Would that you have, Altaïr. Is that Apple still keeping you awake tonight, love?" There was no mistaking the slight of bitterness in her voice, a sound that stung him more now than it would have years ago when he'd first begun looking into the Piece of Eden. Her patience was wearing thin for the orb, it was not a fact bound in secret.

"Not so much, not tonight. Sef's dreaming has gotten me concerned," he said carefully, with no small amount of truth. 

"Every little boy has nightmares, ours is no different."

"But not every boy dreams of faceless men and creatures of metal. Nor does every boy dream of things their fathers do not tell them."

Maria was silent for a long moment, eyes searching for something she couldn't quite find, perhaps an alternate conclusion where there were none. "You mean..."

"Yes. The Apple has whispered such beings of late, though I still do not see how they could exist. What our world consists of is human, but beings of that like would suggest something... different. The Apple suggests they are older than even the Ones Who Came Before, but I do not see how." He sighed, rubbing his temple skin with his free hand, he could already feel a headache begin pulsing there. "The Apple tells me no more than it wants to, Maria. I do not know how long I can continue playing this game."

"Then don't, love. Step away from the Apple, away from the duties of Grand Master, if only for a day, I'm sure Malik can handle the Order for a few hours."

Altaïr chuckled lightly. "I would never hear the end of it if I left my duties even for a day. Malik would not allow it." He paused, looking at Sef's sleeping form before continuing. "But a step away from the Apple may prove profitable, and less taxing." The assassin yawned then, as if his body was in complete agreement with what his mind and mouth had just said. He could not remember that last time he had spent overseeing the training of novices with his own eyes, or tended to the horses, or simply walked among the streets of Masyaf, below. And now that he thought about it, he missed it and he could think of nothing better that he would like to do. 

Well. That statement was not entirely true. His wife was lucky their son was in the room, or neither of them would have been getting much sleep that night.


	2. The Old White Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altair has some time off.

"You must place your feet _wider_ , Darim, lest you want your enemies to unbalance you!" Rauf was saying sharply as Altaïr came up. The boy he was instructing obeyed, a string of complaints leaving his mouth, and a few choice words he did not know his son _knew_. He made a mental note to tell his son to refrain from using those words in front of his mother, unless he wanted a foul taste in his mouth. 

"Darim," and his son's head turned so quickly he was surprised he did not look dizzy for it. "Lift your sword arm, you will not hit anything like that."

Darim ran up to him with an excited "Father!", and Altaïr scooped him up in his arms. "Master Rauf won't let me hold even a wooden sword yet,"

"And when you are a novice, things will be different, but you are not old enough." Rauf interjected, coming up to greet them. Darim gave the instructor a little pout, no doubt expecting some type of special treatment for being the son of the Grand Master of the Assassins, but even so Altaïr would never have allowed it. It was that kind of treatment that had fueled Altaïr's arrogance, he'd be damned if he let that happen to his sons as well.

"As it should be," he nodded in agreement, "with that haphazard stance of yours, you pose greater risk to yourself. Now go, practice your form."  He let him go to scamper back into the training ring, leaving the two adults to talk.

 "For all the talent that boy has in his possession, he is every bit as stubborn as his father," Rauf said lightly, watching Darim with critical eyes that missed nothing. Altaïr watched more carefully, calling suggestions when he saw room for improvement. 

"How has he progressed?"

"In truth, I see more in him than I do my novices, but we make due." Rauf replied. "Darim, focus on your movements, fluidity and form over speed. Once you master them we can concentrate on how quickly you strike." Darim looked back briefly to nod, then continued much more smoothly. Rauf smiled at that. "And despite his complaints, he listens  when told the first time. I don't know how you did it, Altaïr, but you have two good sons."

Altaïr chuckled at that. "Do not thank me, friend. That is Maria's doing. Given the chance of sole reign, they would be worse than myself."

Rauf shrugged, "Perhaps not. I think you put too little faith in yourself."

Altaïr didn't know if he could fully agree with him. Some days, he was not sure if he had changed at all from the stupid young man that he had been, and had only learned the err of his ways, learned to control it, to redirect it elsewhere. The Apple, and the knowledge it held. 

"Alright, Darim, you've done well today. Go, before you tire yourself." Rauf's voice broke him from his thoughts.

"Do not get carried away, son.  Sabir had something for you and your brother." Altair called after him quickly, the only reply he earned was a halfhearted "Okay," thrown over the boy's shoulder. 

"I'm surprised you aren't hunched over that desk of yours. It seems with all of that paperwork, you hardly have time to see the sun anymore," Rauf stated, saving Altaïr from spiraling into his thoughts once more.

Indeed, for a moment, he'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. "Not today. Maria convinced me a day away from that damned desk what do some good." 

"I can't fault the woman for that. I've never taken you for one to sit idly, not without complaint."

His bones had been itching for action, Altaïr didn't know how often he had pushed it back, ignored it, or how long he'd sat there, looking into the Apple. He didn't tell Rauf any of this, however, and opted to change the subject. "Enough of me, what of the novices?"

For the first time that morning, Rauf looked older than his age, and he placed a hand on his forehead, as if just thinking of it made his head ache. "They... are unaccustomed to this lifestyle, some find it hard to adapt while others are reluctant to behave. One man can only do so much."

"Hmm," Altair clasped his hands behind his back. "Perhaps I could be of assistance. Send for me if you need my help."

"Of course, Mentor."

The two parted ways, Rauf going to the mess hall to get the boys, Altaïr to the stables. The familiar sound of hooves against hard stone and the light whickering of horses greeted him as he walked up, and Altaïr couldn't help but smile. 

The horses that resided in the stables rested idly, lids heavy and tired. The assassin couldn't fault them for that, as he knew they'd be tired after long trips to and from cities weeks away. The fresher of the horses were outside Masyaf's walls, all tacked and ready for the assassins' use. 

Altaïr touched the nose of a white mare, the horse's ear swiveled forward at his presence. Her eyes opened, her head turned and bobbed slightly as if excepting to be let out to the gates.  "Rest, old girl," he murmured, and the horse quieted. She had been one of the older horses within Masyaf's walls, one of Altaïr's personal favorites, and though she was beginning to show her age, the man couldn't bring himself to be rid of her. So she spent her days resting now, something she seemed to like less than weeks, sometimes even months, of travel. 

Altaïr had often taken her out along the countryside when he felt the familiar tick of nostalgia creep into his bones, but that had been before the Apple had taken up most of his time. But being away of it now brought back everything he had been missing. "Do you want to go for a ride?" The horse's ears pricked up once more. "I thought so," Altaïr smiled, but there was more work to be done. "Soon, I will, I promise. But you must wait for me." He felt like a boy again, talking to the horse, but he didn't much care anymore. 

It was like a sense of freedom came with it, freedom he hadn't truly felt in some time. A prisoner of duty, of the Apple. That was all he had been for longer than he cared to remember.

And it for a time it seemed he would forget that he had a family waiting to see him. A family he was unsure if he deserved. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him, breaking him away from his thoughts. That was something he had been doing a lot lately. "Altaïr," he let out a sigh. He knew that voice. 

"Malik,"

"You don't sound happy to see me," Malik said, and Altaïr had to turn and see if the smile in his tone started on his face. It did. 

"Should I be? So far, all you've come to me with is expenses and requests for aid. These are hardly things a man gets excited over." Still, Altaïr followed the man back to the citadel.

"I never ask for enthusiasm,"

"As had never asked to be Grand Master," it sounded right at the time, though Altaïr was sure he would look back on the statement with regret. 

 _And indeed, I will_ , Altaïr reflected as Malik stopped short.  "You should have thought on that before killing Al Mualim, then. But I doubt you could have thought that far ahead, you can barely do so now."

Altaïr only hummed in response, ignoring the obvious jest. There was truth there, and wether Malik was trying to exploit his temper or not, Altaïr was not going to fall for it so easily.

He had to squint until his eyes adjusted to the new lighting when they entered the building. It helped that he had his hood up, though he divested himself of that shortly after. "What work awaits me today?"

"Two of our brothers came back from a mission this morning while you were sight seeing," Malik began, and Altaïr shrugged it off, though he stopped as the former Dai finished. "As I recall, we had sent out four."

It gave him pause, it was unfortunate that they had lost two, but not unlikely. An Assassin's life was formed around death- either the deaths of others, or their own. Could he really expect not to loose a few once and a while? "What is so important about this case that requires my attention? We are bound to lose someone once and a while. I'm sure they died bravely."

"They are not dead, not according to the two that returned to us."

"Captured, then?" Malik nodded, and Altaïr had a more difficult time brushing this off. "By who?"

Malik shifted uncomfortably.

"Who has them?"

"Well, it sounds ridiculous even to me, but they swear that they saw their brothers taken by giant... lizard-people."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm slowly trying the incorporate Doctor Who in this fic, after all, I started this intending it to be a crossover, and that's what it'll be. But I really, really want to explore as many aspects of Altaïr's personality before I fuck it up by throwing the Doctor in there.


	3. The Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr is enlightened on tthe lizard men.

Altaïr didn't know what was more ridiculous, the fact that his assassins thought there were lizard people, or that Malik actually believed them. He paced in front of them now, unsure whether this was some trick, or if he truly believed in what the two were saying. He wasn't listening much, not now, anyway. They were still in the beginnings of their story, neither of them seemed to know how to get straight to the point. 

So, hands clasped behind his back, Altaïr paced from behind his desk, doing what he could from making a mockery of this whole ordeal. Which was to say, he said very little and listened to the two men drone on, only raising questions when he saw fit, ready to see this meeting draw to an end so he could get on to more important orders of business. 

He'd told Malik as much when the former Dai was trying to convince him to hear these two out. 

He could not help but think how eerily similar the Apple's visions were becoming to this tale. They spoke of different creatures, yes, but neither creature could exist in the world they lived in. 

"Yes, yes. The mission was a success, I am glad to hear it," Altaïr cut them off, losing his patience, "but can we please get to the part that prompted this discussion?"

The younger of the twins bowed his head. "Of course, sorry, Master." The older picked up the story. "It was on our way back that it happened. We were no more than a day's ride from Masyaf when Rashid heard something. I told him it was nothing, a bird, nothing that would cause concern."

"Zafar thought otherwise," the younger picked up where his kin left off, making Altaïr glance between the two for a moment. "He convinced us to at least wait while they investigated, that's when _I_ heard it, a harsh hissing noise, coming from where Zafar and Rashid disappeared." The words seemed to  catch in the man's throat for a moment, but when the elder tried to speak for him, Altaïr held up a hand to cut him off. He'd been listening to the two switch off long enough. 

"What happened next?" He prompted, feeling like he was speaking to his four year old son again. He would rather be, in any case. 

"We heard the screaming. Zafar never screams, not even when he thinks he is going to die. He would rather face it with bravery than in fear. He told me once, when we were on our way to Aleppo, he never liked the idea of cowering over something so inevitable as the end."

Altaïr had a feeling he would have liked Zafar, but he learned long ago crying over what was lost would do nothing to bring it back. Action brought back what was lost, if there was the possibility of it being found. "You said you saw them?" 

The younger nodded, gaze trained to the floor. " _Na'am_ , we ran up just as they were being taken,"

"And what did these... captors look like?" 

"A _al-guhl_ *, master." This time, the elder could not hold back from speaking, and his younger twin was quick to agree. Altaïr couldn't stop himself from holding his face in his palm. That they would fall back on superstition made him like this situation less and less. 

"What did they _look_ like? Not 'what do you think they were'. I believe there _is_ a difference."

The two groped for words for a moment, staring at him helplessly before one of them spoke, Altaïr didn't care much for telling them apart anymore. "Well, at first we thought it was a man, then Rayhan saw its face. It was covered in some type of mask, but it was not human."

"They had the tongue of a lizard, an abomination before God." Rayhan added, and once again Altaïr had to resist mocking him. Perhaps if his patience weren't wearing so thin he would have been more tolerant of the man's faith, but he knew he would have to chose his words carefully for the time being.  

"Where did this take place?"

"Nasih said it was about an hour's ride from our furthest watchtower. I can arrange for us to leave tomorrow if you wish to see for yourself," Malik said, and Altaïr nodded. 

"Do that, make the preparations so I can put this behind me." He turned to the twins. "You must be wary from your travels, you may rest. Malik and I will take it from here." The two bowed their heads and left, leaving Altaïr to glare daggers into Malik's face. "you had better start explaining to me why we are wasting our time chasing fairies when we could be using it on more productive things."

Malik actually _laughed_ , completely unphased by the authoritative tone Altaïr thought he was using. Then again, Malik was never one to cower into submission. And never for the likes of Altaïr. "I thought we had established that you do not intimidate me, Altaïr. Perhaps I was wrong in thinking you might catch on it if you saw the two in person, you are more blind that I'd originally thought. They believe in what they saw. Surely that means something to you, Altaïr."

"They are fools blinded by delusions of devils and demons, but if they truly believe Zafar and Rashid were taken by lizard men, I will at least humor them." Humor them he might, but in the end of the day, no one would be laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * al-guhl: basically, demon


	4. The Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sef has a dream.

Darim always had a habit of looking at the door when he swore, as if expecting mother to come in at any moment. Sef didn't like it when his brother swore. The words sounded ugly and mean coming from him, and they succeed in making the boy want to shrink away. 

Darim swore now, and once again, he looked back at the door.

"What is it?" Sef asked, pretending to busy himself with his nails, trying to seem uninterested. He told himself that anything his brother said was unimportant, because Darim didn't like it when he asked too many questions. 

"Father's leaving with Malik in the morning." Darim grumbled, and Sef looked up sharply. 

"He's gonna come back, right?"

"Of course he's coming back, _ghabii_. He wouldn't ever leave us alone." Darim said, as if the very thought pained him. 

"Oh.... then what's wrong, if he's coming back, we can just greet him on his return." Sef suggested, but his older brother shook his head.

"But that means he's going to miss my training tomorrow. Master Rauf is letting me spar with the older boys."

Darim was always so fixed on swordplay and fighting, it made Sef feel almost as uncomfortable as when he caught his brother swearing. He acted as though he had something to prove by being the best at everything he did. He was always quick to be the most obedient, the most fierce, the most _everything_ , Sef was surprised he had the time for anything else.

 "I will come and watch," he offered, and mother's blue eyes (because unlike Sef, who had their father's brown eyes, Darim had been gifted with the blue ones of their mother) looked up from where they were trained on the older boy's lap. 

"I know you will," it was times like this that Sef remembered they were brothers, and not just two boys who shared the same blood. When Darim looked at him like this, Sef was reminded that despite how prickly his brother could be, he actually cared. "Thanks,"

Sef could only nod at his brother in response, unused to this show of vulnerability, it was unusual of Darim. "Where do you think father is going?" Sef changed the subject, Darim shrugged helplessly. 

"I don't know, but mother said he couldn't be gone for more than two days."

"Oh," Sef said helplessly.

"Why, are you scared of the monsters?" Darim's voice grinned, making Sef look up from his nails.

"No!" He said, indignant. "That's as ridiculous as being scared of the dark."

"Yeah, I bet you're scared of that, too."

Sef could only shake his head helplessly, and Darim laughed at him. The younger boy flushed and resolved to look in his lap. "I am not," he said weekly, but his older brother was unconvinced, though Sef was grateful when he dropped the subject, finding new interest in the wooden sword Master Rauf had given him that day. 

Sef was more interested in the scrolls Sabir had given him, though he did not have the heart to read them now. If only Darim could see the significance in the text. He would find them interesting, Sef thought. 

He pulled up the blankets to his chin as he lay back on his bed in their shared room, looking at his older brother. "Night, Darim," he murmured with a yawn. Darim only hummed his reply, but Sef was already groggy with sleep. 

He was back in the foggy place when he closed his eyes, but this time, there were no monsters. It was empty, void of any living being, making Sef feel so alone he almost preferred the monsters. Father could fight monsters, but loneliness was different. How could you fight something you couldn't see?

Sef walked deeper into the fog, feeling the mist surround him in an airy embrace. He was greeted with the same emptiness, there was no end of it, until Sef was tired of looking for something that was not there. 

Then he heard a whisper. Sef turned, but was greeted with no one. "Hello?"

The whisper again, again Sef turned, again nothing. "Who are you?"

Sef turned in a slow circle, but there was no one. He felt his heart pump in his chest, heard it loud in his ears. "It's just a dream," he told himself. "Only a dream. I'm going to wake up and Darim will be there and it's only dream."

"Rubbish,"

"What?" Sef turned abruptly enough to see a faint light in the distance flicker away. He ran toward it. 

"It isn't a dream, well, not really. To you it is, but to me, it's a message. Did you get my message?"

"What message?" Sef asked, but he saw the light flicker in to corner of his eye. He moved toward it. 

"Oh, dear me. You must not have been paying attention. Last night. Remember last night? It was last night, wasn't it?"

"I prefer not to think about last night," Sef said, becoming more frustrated when he had to change his course again. "Please, stop moving."

"I can't. I'm always moving. Through time. Through space. I exist to move. You do, too, you just don't know it."

"What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Names aren't important. You won't need to use it."

"How do you know? I might." Father always said you know the names of everyone in your life. The people you trust. The people you don't. The people in your dreams...

"Because this is the last time. There is so much to tell you."

"Last time for what? Please, explain!" Sef called. Why wouldn't they show themselves? The voice was neither man nor woman, it just... was. 

"I will, just watch." And suddenly the mist was filled with images. Great ones and terrible ones. Ones of the monsters and ones of his father and his brother and his mother. Some of Master Malik and Master Rauf and Sabir. Of men he did not know. Of a woman  with fire in her hair.

And then of buildings more spectacular than the castle of Masyaf, crumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust and terror. Sef shielded his eyes. The vision was so real he felt as if he was there. 

Then there were giant fingers reaching out to him, but before they reached him they shattered into the mist, replaced by impossible metal men with tears cut into the black holes they had for eyes. Sef stumbled back with a whimper, losing his balance so that he crashed into.... nothing. 

He was falling, the ground approaching too quickly for him to even feel scared. But he could tell his was because his heart was in his throat and he felt like he wanted to scream, but he couldn't. Something was stopping him.

Sef scrambled and flailed, reaching out for something to stop his fall, for something that wasn't there. And just before he hit the ground, his vision was bathed in a golden light, and at its center, was a ball. 

_"Beware the Cybermen.... they.... Apple.... help is on the way....."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghabii: stupid
> 
> Not much to say for this one. It took a little longer than I had planned, but I hope it was worth it. Sef is the cutest kid and anyone who says otherwise is wrong.


	5. The Strange Signal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor asks for a favor; Altaïr returns home.

Something was off about the Doctor. 

She'd noticed it before, a couple of 'days' ago, but it hadn't been so.... _noticeable_ until now. 

Because now he was abuzz and busy, pushing buttons and never stopping to give the Ponds greeting when they came out of the shared bedroom housed in the TARDIS. In all honesty Amy wasn't sure if they were noticed, which was to say, she _knew_ they weren't noticed, if the hard look of concentration on his face was anything to go by. 

He was mumbling to himself, or the TARDIS, or to no one in particular, you could never be sure with the Doctor, but when she and Rory exchanged looks she knew he wasn't talking to either of them. 

"Ah! Amy, Rory, I need you two to do me a favor," and in true Doctor fashion, he grabbed the two by the elbows and dragged them to the console. The TARDIS whirred and pulsed as she neared, though she wasn't surprised. It was what woke her up to begin with.

The Doctor stationed Amy across from him and put her hand on a button, Rory's on a lever. "Hold the button until I say stop, Rory, don't pull the lever before I tell you to. This has to be done properly or it won't work..."

"And what exactly are we doing?"

The Doctor didn't answer right away, "I'm trying to trace the signal."

"Someone is sending us a signal?" Rory opened his mouth before she had the chance, though she was grateful with the look the Doctor gave him.

The type of look that was usually followed by- "No. _We_ are sending the signal. I just don't know where, or to who. Pay attention. And pull the lever."

Cowed into silence, Rory did as he was told, and the blue light at the center of the TARDIS' console dulled, the pulsing and whirring slowing with it. She faintly heard the Doctor mumble something to the console before he let out a frustrated sound. "No, don't do that to me,"

"Do what, what is it doing?" Amy asked, looking from her husband to the Doctor.

"She's blocking me out." He pushed Amy aside and resumed pushing buttons, eventually making his way over to Rory to do the same. The buzzing started again, louder this time, and Amy had to cover her ears. 

"Doctor, I think it's angry."

"Of course she is. You would be to if a mad man was bypassing all of your carefully constructed blockades- oh she was clever, but even she should know that I am more so,"

 _Anything you can do I can do better..._ Amy decided to keep that to herself. Again, the Doctor came short if whatever signal he was looking for, and again he growled in frustration. "What are you hiding Old Girl?" He looked up at the console, as if it might give him the answers he was seeking, but none came, and the Doctor was forced to straighten his bow tie and face first Amy, then Rory. "Alright. Where are we going today?"

"So that's it then?" Rory was the first of the Ponds to speak, with a sideways glance at his wife, who in all honesty was thinking the same thing. 

Amy had never known the Doctor to give up so easily. 

"What's it?" The TARDIS' rejection had done nothing to lighten his mood, and the Doctor didn't wait for an explanation, and jumped into explaining it himself. "Of course that's it. I've tried everything… twice. Okay, once, but I did try everything, and I mean _everything_ … and that takes a long time to do once, let alone twice. She's blocked me out. I can't do anything about it."

"… did you try asking?"

" _Asking_?"

Rory hesitated when he nodded, as if dreading the response. Amy was thinking of mocking him for it, but the Doctor had a look in his eye.

…

"Father!"

Altaïr had scarcely the time to turn before Sef was upon him, his arms wrapping instinctually around the small boy to hold him in place. Darim followed suit, and Altaïr had to adjust his grip so that he could rub his son's hair affectionately as he hugged his waist. "We missed you,"

"I am sure you have," Altaïr replied, holding Darim back enough to look in his eyes- so like his mother's, reminding him so much if the sky, or the waters when they were calm. "You two didn't get into any trouble while I was away, did you?"

"No," Darim and Sef gave their answer in unison, and Altaïr chuckled, making his way up the hill to the Assassin's fortress. 

He was feeling the effects if his travels, and though he was happy to be amongst family again, the fruits - or lack there of - of his investigation had left him in a sour mood. Even Malik had been disappointed in what had surely been the biggest waste of valuable time, and had shared the Assassin's discontentment. Indeed, the two had fueled each other's anger, making for an unpleasant ride home. 

And for that Altaïr was eternally grateful that Malik had the sense to put space between the two once inside the safety of Masyaf's walls. He did not know how much longer he could have suffered through Malik's mood, which had been worsened at the thought of returning empty handed. That was one thing Altaïr could sympathize with. He had felt the same sting of disappointment. 

He put those thoughts behind him now, though, and allowed his sons to lead him through the gates and the inner citadel. It felt good to be home, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into the sheets of his bed and sleep off the soreness and aches that came from riding in a saddle for three days. 

Altaïr entered the fortress, eyes squinted slightly to allow himself time to adjust to the dimness compared to the outside world. But here his world shrunk considerably. He was a father, a husband, a teacher. In here his world became his sons, his wife and his books and scrolls. Nothing else mattered more. Altaïr told himself he needed to remember that the next time he felt the need to delve into the Apple. Somehow he knew he wouldn't. 

"Welcome home, Assassin," never had he been more grateful to be broken from his thoughts, never would have he complained knowing the person who owned that light, teasing voice. 

He hummed, let the boys on their merry way (they seemed have forgotten they were escorting their father, though it made little difference now) and turned to the voice with a warm smile. "Never did I think I would see the day a Templar welcomes an Assassin to his home. Could it be the tides have truly turned?" Unconsciously, his arm found its way around her waist to pull her close.

"More than you know," and oh, those lips tasted so sweet after being away from them for so long.

Altaïr gripped the back of Maria's neck as gently as eager fingers would allow to deepen their kiss. He'd been away for far too long, it was almost torturous. Maria was the first to pull away, and Altaïr felt the loss of contact keenly. "The boys are watching," she murmured, and Altaïr had to resist turning around.

"Ours?"

"Mmhmm,"

"Darim, Sef," and Altaïr could just barely hear his eldest son's curse, and from the way Maria arched her brow, he was not the only one to hear it.  "I think it best you come out of hiding now,"

There was some shuffling, and when Altaïr did turn Darim and Sef were standing side by side. Darim nudged his younger brother in front of him. "Sef has something to tell you," he said hastily. Altaïr gave the boy a long look, wondering what it was that had him so… off. Neither of them would meet his eyes, and finally he resolved to kneel before his youngest.

"What is it, son?" He was met with silence, the boy shuffling his feet awkwardly, unable to look at anything but the floor. Altaïr glanced back up at Maria, who could only shrug helplessly.  

"The voice said they were coming," Sef spoke so softly  Altaïr was unsure he had spoken at all, he turned to face the boy again.

"Do you remember what I said about mumbling?" The boy nodded sullenly. "And you can tell me anything, no matter how foolish it may seem?" The boy nodded. "What is it?"

"They're coming,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Amy, Rory, and the Doctor make an appearance. I'm pretty sure I've trucked a few things up, but we'll see how things go.


	6. The Gold Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atlaïr's fears run deeper than a few dreams.

His world was blue.

Dark blue and light blue and black-blue and white-blue and every blue in between. But it was blue. Sometimes, sometimes he would see white, like the haybales, or groups of people, or even benches with people lounging. The people where either blue, a lighter blue, always a lighter blue, or they blended with the world, becoming grey-blue. But not everything was blue now. Father was the lighter blue, and so was Mother and Darim, but there was a woman behind Mother and Father, and she wasn't blue.

She was gold, and not the glowy gold like he saw his father and his mother in a glowy blue. No, she was just… gold. And she was looking at him, but when his vision faded into the right colors, she wasn't there, so he stayed into the blue vision so he could watch her. 

"Sef," and then all of a sudden Father put his hands on his shoulders and gave him a light shake. "Who is coming?"

The world was back to normal now. Sef looked at his father and blinked. "I… I don't know. She just said they were coming."

"When, who told you?" Father was scaring him. Sef knew it wasn't on purpose, but there was urgency and hardness in his voice now and Sef was scared.

"She never said her name." _Was that her?_ He wondered, remembering the golden woman. 

 _No child,_ Sef looked, tried looking with the blue vision, but that refused him. 

_How can you hear me? I didn't say anything._

_Yet I hear you._

_You're the golden woman?_

"Sef?" Father was saying something else, but the more he tried to concentrate on the words, the more jumbled they sounded. 

 _Yes, if that is how I appear to you, I am the golden woman,_  

_Do you know the woman in my dreams?_

_No_

"Sef," his father's hands were on his shoulders again, shaking him a little harder than last time. "Look at me, son. When are they coming, did she say? What did she look like?"

The golden woman was silent in his head, and for a moment, Sef resented his father for interrupting, but that feeling quickly disappeared when he saw the look on his face. The urgency from his voice was there, but there was something else that Sef had never seen in his father before. _Father never gets scared…_

 _All men can be frightened._ The golden woman told him.

"She never showed herself," _I'm not sure if it_ was _a she…_ but something told him it was. "I tried asking her name, but she never gave it to me. She just said that something was coming and that she would bring help."  The threat did not scare Sef, not when he knew that they would help them if these things did come. He'd forgotten what the woman called them, but Sef remembered what they looked like clear enough. 

And then there were the faceless men. He did not know how he remembered what they looked like. Something kept telling him to forget that like he'd forgotten the metal things, but he just _couldn't_. Somehow, he remembered, and he didn't know if he should be scared for it. was it the faceless men that were coming? Sef wondered. Would his father see them?

Sef hopped that he would, so he would stop telling him that they were just dreams. He knew the difference, dreams never felt so real. 

…

Altaïr sincerely regretted bringing the Apple with him on his journeys now. Had he not, he was sure he would have not been so concerned with his son's dreams, or the strange woman he kept on about. However, he could not shake the feeling that the Apple was somehow… leaking into the boy's dreams, and it made him uneasy. 

He should have destroyed the damned thing long ago. For all the knowledge it promised it gave only whisperings in return. Altaïr wondered if this was what made it so dangerous, it always kept men wanting more, until they were practically insane from it. 

Altaïr must have been lucky, or the only father to have had the Apple, because at present, the only thing he felt was concern. Concern for the family suffering for his neglect. Concern for the son plagued by nightmares of creatures nonexistent. Concerned now for their safety, if what Sef had said was true. 

Maria had convinced him to retire to their room an hour ago, though he was just now doing so. The entirety of his being was afire with soreness and ache, and it was all Altaïr could do to keep himself from collapsing into the chair at his desk— the one he used for more 'personal' studies, he had a desk for everything, it seemed— and he bit back a pained groan.  He was keenly aware of every tense muscle, though he decided it was simply a result of staying cooped up within the walls of the citadel. Altaïr reminded himself to go out more often in the future, lest he became older than his age would permit. 

He leaned back into the chair, letting his head rest against his chest for the time being, eyes half lidded. True rest would not come, he feared, with all the things running through his mind, and as the sun sunk into the horizon, casting a fiery glow through the window, Altaïr prepared himself for another sleepless night.

His shoulders went impossibly tight when he felt hands press into the muscle there, instinct yelling for him to kill the intruder, though even if it were an intruder, even if he wanted to, the very body that was itching for action was holding him back. 

"Relax, Altaïr. You're tighter than a bowstring." And he did, or at least managed to give in to Maria's scolding voice.

Altaïr let his head fall back against her torso, let the tension in his neck and shoulders melt away. "I'm getting too old, Maria."

"You're getting to soft. What happened to the rugged Assassin I married eight years ago?"

Had it been that long, truly? Altaïr opened half closed eyes to looked up her when she traced the stubble along his jaw, leaning into that touch like he was her lap dog. "Marriage, children, and leading my brothers happened," she hit his shoulder in feigned rebuke, drawing a lazy grin from his lips. "I'm better off for the marriage, I would think."

"I'd hope so. You'd be dead without me," Altaïr didn't doubt it. Maria was a skilled swordswoman, a phenomenal and well rounded fighter, with a temper match. He knew for a fact that she could have killed him, she'd been given multiple opportunities  over their travels- but that was another lifetime, it seemed. 

"I fear for him," he said suddenly, and he felt simultaneously older and younger for it. "I cannot pretend that his dreams leave me unbothered."

"Don't think on it now, Sef is safe, and they _are_ just dreams. He'll grow out of them, all little boys do eventually."

Altaïr hoped she was right, _prayed_ , on some level, that she was right. But something told him that she would be wrong, and he prayed that he was wrong about that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr and Maria are my favorite couple.


	7. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finds something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter took a lot longer than I thought it would and for that, I appologize. This next one shouldn't have so long of a delay, I hope.

The TARDIS lurched like a lift would after stopping at a floor, signaling that the spaceship had landed, and Rory felt the familiar nervous excitement that came with seeing new things set in his belly.

The Roman in him was still battling the notion of sorcery, but the man— Amy's husband— had gotten used to it long ago. It had seemed a beautiful impossibility to him at first, even knowing what he knew, even with the then distant memories that seemed to belong to another man. He had been so used to the solidity of ground, and plate and shield and sword that when he stepped into the TARDIS for first time in that lifetime, he'd been sick to his stomach and keeling over with a roiling belly. 

But even that seemed a lifetime ago now too, and though Rory clutched the TARDIS's railing to steady himself as the time machine jolted, he didn't even have the hint of bile at the back of his throat.

Truth be told, he wasn't even thinking about it, caught up in how lucky he was to have lived three lives and still get to travel the galaxy to see more. Rory Williams was a lucky man indeed. 

When the TARDIS whirred to halt, the Doctor ran to the door in hurried excitement, but stopped dead at the sight that awaited them on the other side.

The place was barren, empty and filled with dust. The sky was dull and cloudy, like it hadn't seen the sun in a long time. Buildings that once stood proud and sturdy had begun to wither and crumble with age. "Where are we?" Rory heard himself ask.

"Earth." The Doctor's simple answer was filled with disappointment. "Though not a very exciting Earth,"

"I'm sure you'll find some excitement," Amy said, coming to stand next to Rory, "you always do."

"Of all the places the TARDIS could have chosen, she picks _this_ place. I was under the impression that there was something _happening_."

There were times when Rory thought the Doctor was a petulant child prone to fits. This was one of those times. "Well, maybe it got the coordinates wrong," he tried.

The Doctor threw a look over his shoulder, then stepped out. "My TARDIS never gets the coordinates wrong. She sent us here on purpose."

"Well," Rory said, throwing his coat over his shoulder and stepping out into the nonexistent daylight. "Let's find it, shall we?" His wife was at his side in moments, taking in their surroundings with wondrous, critical eyes. The Doctor followed more slowly, still appearing to sulk at the fact that the TARDIS had seemingly dropped them off in the middle of nowhere.

"What do think we'll find here? There's nothing but rubble and dust."

Rory glanced at Amy and shrugged. "I dunno, but if we don't find something we won't here the end of it from the Doctor." They were walking up a upward sloping path, leaning in a gentle curve to the ruined remains of what had been a castle. It was little more than a pile of rocks but for the half of a tower that still stood. Despite the raise of the hill, Rory doubted he would mange to see anything at its top.

There was a taller wooden structure that had withstood the years, though the rest of what used to be a civilization had withered. The tower stood like a beacon against desolation, and Rory's eyes were drawn to it indefinitely. A quick glance back at the Doctor said the same for him. They were going to climb that tower. 

At its base the tower proved to have been upgraded, a ladder having been added that was unoriginal to the structure itself. Closer inspection told them that it had not recent, and that higher both ladder and tower were beginning to decay as well. That did nothing to stave their curiosity, and only served to caution their ascent. 

The scenery proved to be more spectacular at the top of the tower, and even the skeleton of a city below took on a level of serenity for this height. Neither of them had eyes for the sights, though. 

"Doctor, what _is_ that?"

The Doctor was already buzzing around the radius of what appeared to be some type of blast area, but it wasn't any type of blast Rory had seen. And Rory had seen a lot of explosions, they both have in their travels, yet even Amy seemed surprised by it.

"A bomb like this would have taken down the tower," she turned in a slow circle, following the mark that the explosive had made on the little alcove. "It   
doesn't seem that strong to begin with."

"Unless…" the Doctor pulled out his screwdriver and buzzed around the tower, the green light flitting across the blast area for several minutes before the time lord stood completely still. There was an odd look on his face, a number of emotions battling for dominance in the alien man's eyes as he stared at his sonic screwdriver. 

"Doctor, what is it?"

"I haven't seen this kind of technology in _years_ ," there was a level of nervous excitement in the Doctor's voice when he spoke, but his face remained in that type of emotional battleground that Rory didn't like. "I thought that they were all gone by now."

"What was? What are you talking about?" Something cracked behind him, and he was turning around even before he heard the scream. Rory's heart was in his throat as it was sinking to his stomach at the same time, dread boiling unpleasantly in his belly as he ran forward. "No!" He sunk to his knees, crawled the rest of the way forward, reached down too late. It was all too late. "AMY!" 

There were few times when he would have hated himself more than in that moment- when he could only watch. The arm that had been holding himself up shook and he collapsed against the rotting wood of the tower. He could hear her calling for him- but the mist that had begun to fall in had swallowed her up seconds ago. Rory Williams suddenly felt cold, choked, empty, and so very useless. " _AMY_!"

He couldn't have said if the Doctor was there right away, or if he had hung back for a few seconds, but all he remembered was scrambling, unable to trust his knees to hold him, clawing at the Doctor's jacket, grabbing at his wrist piteously. "Doctor we have to save her, _you have to go get her_ , we should have never come here, I should have caught her…" he was babbling, saying things that he was unaware had left his mouth at all, speaking too quickly and pleadingly that the words had become unintelligible long ago. And then he was speaking through tears. The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder, but for once he was at a loss for words, and at once Rory knew nothing could be done. He wiped his eyes with a palm, sat back on his heels and stared ahead of him. "I was too late. I got there too late and I couldn't save her."

There was something cold in his heart that had somehow translated into what he was saying, because his words sounded hollowed to his ears. "We need to leave," _I am nothing without her, I waited, and I am nothing now._ "I can't stay here." He scarcely saw the Doctor's nod. 

The trip down the tower, the hill, back to the TARDIS was one that Rory didn't remember making. But when the Doctor opened the doors and stopped dead in his tracks, Rory felt a bit of hope flutter in his chest for a fraction of a second. He followed him in the TARDIS, looked around desperately for the conformation of that hope, but found something else instead. 

Sitting, curled up and shaking against the TARDIS console, big, frightened eyes staring past them as if searching for something that was no longer there, was a small boy.


	8. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I apologize heavily for the delay.
> 
> Secondly, I apologize for these last two chapters, things will start looking up and coming together and making sense. Hopefully.

The last thing Altaïr wanted was for his children to get hurt. Boys were boys, the Assassin was all to aware of the inevitability that they would come home with a few bumps and scrapes every now and then. He didn't worry over that so much as the cuts and purple and black bruises he so remembered as a child in novice training. Darim's insistence that he was old enough to train as a novice, that he was willing to devote the rest of his life to a cause the he was sure not to see the end of. It worried Altaïr to no end. It filled him with such a mixture of pride and worry he was unsure which seemed more prevalent.

Maria and Malik were arguing again, doing nothing to soothe the ache in his temple. He would have liked nothing more than to get into the middle of it and tell them that there were bigger things at stake here, that ultimately the decision landed on his shoulders, and not theirs. But the tone of their argument told him that doing so would earn him a harsh glare and retribution from them both. He could do nothing but sit and listen to them bicker back and forth, a tiring and painful task to say the least.

It had started out as a discussion about, and this would never cease to amaze him,  Darim and Sef's training. And odder still, Maria was perfectly fine in allowing her children to risk their limbs and appendages. Malik, on the other hand, was arguing the point that the boys were too young— something that Altaïr wholeheartedly agreed upon. He rubbed his temple skin when their argument reached a level just below screaming and rose from his chair. "I can see you two are fully engaged in conversation, if I am needed I will be outside," _if there is any Devine entity out there, please bid that I am not needed_. Thankfully, his wife and his second in command were too busy to pay him any mind and Altaïr was able to leave the hall in peace.  

The night air was refreshing; it helped clear his senses and made it easier to think. The city below was dead, everyone having retired to their beds for the night. Thinking of it made Altaïr want to do that same.

"Father?" Someone sniffled. Altaïr turned.

"Sef, what are you doing out of bed?". The boy's eyes watered, Altaïr noticed as he drew closer, he wondered if it was the argument in the next room that had caused Sef to wake, but as he buried his face in Altaïr's chest, he thought better of reprimanding them. "What is it?"

He waited patiently while the boy cried, pet at Sef's head and did his best to soothe him enough so that he could speak. Sef wiped away the tears at his eyes and sniffed. "The girl fell," his voice sounded so impossibly small, hiding his face like he did in his father's robes. "The tower fell from beneath her feet and she fell."

"What girl?" Altaïr would not ask how the girl got on the tower, but perhaps they could salvage her body and keep it from the curious eyes of others, save her family from those prying curiosities. Sef was silent for a while, the distraction having done its job in clearing the rest of the boy's tears, he looked confused for a moment, as though surprised his father did not know about the girl. 

"The woman, the one with fire in her hair. She said that you would know her," and then, Altaïr realized it was his turn to be confused. He shook his head slowly and pulled at the boy's forearms so that he could look at him fully.

"Sef, I do not know any woman with flaming hair. It must have been a dream." But the boy shook his head earnestly.

"No, no. The golden woman said that she was coming to help me… to help us. But she can't now- she fell. Who will help us?"

"I told you that I would not ever let anything happen to you, there is nothing in the world that I cannot handle." Again Sef shook his head. 

"But the golden woman…"

He fell silent, Altaïr could hear could hear the footsteps of the two arguing combatants and the shouting died as they stepped outside. He looked up to see them staring at his son as the boy picked nervously at his fingers.

"What is he doing up?" Maria was the first to break the silence, and he thought he heard a guilty undertone to her voice. He stood.

"A bad dream, though I am sure your arguing did not aide him any." He meant no harshness by it, Altaïr had come to terms long ago that disagreements were bound to happen, he just wished that they would be quieter in the future. He came up to grip her hands firmly in his, giving them a light squeeze to ensure he had his wife's attention. "But to conclude the matter, I do not think it is in the boys' best interest to begin their training so soon. Sef is barely four years old, and Darim is far too reckless for his age to even consider."

"By tradition, boys do not start novice training until their tenth year," Malik quickly agreed, but for the moment Altaïr wished he would set tradition aside. He did not like the thought of revoking some of his promise for protection; nor the hope that his sons would set out for some other life. One less dangerous and more fulfilling. "As a mother, I'm surprised you wouldn't try to shelter your children to keep them safe."

Maria glared daggers into Malik's face and Altaïr flinched, at the same time tightening his hold on her hands in case she decided to start throwing punches. "The boys are well protected here at Masyaf. You must forgive me for not sharing your concerns."

"They are a mother's concerns, are they not?" Malik shot back, unflinching, and not for the first time Altaïr really, _really_ wished he would just shut up before someone decided to misplace a blade in the pit of his stomach. 

"So stop meddling in a mother's affairs by trying to decide what's best for her children."

Something shuffled behind him and Sef, who had been all but forgotten by the adults gave a little squeak that turned into a cry. Immediately Altaïr turned to see what had disquieted the boy, feeling his heart drop the boy was not there.

He didn't think, he just jumped. There was no thinking needed, no wondering how high up this balcony was, no asking himself if there was something to break his fall, that was not needed. Altaïr's heart was in his chest, the fear of losing his son a potent and debilitating disease. Maria's despaired sobs were heard briefly, he knew Malik was the only one stopping her from jumping with him. The only thing that echoed in his ears was the sound of Sef's screaming, a panicked and fearful cry that was already beginning to haunt him. He swallowed the thought of never seeing him again when he hit the water's surface.

Altaïr was not a strong swimmer, but he had heard it said that men could perform feats that borderlined the impossible in times of stress. He prayed that this was one of those times. His head broke the surface. "Sef!" A wave crashed over him, he struggled to the surface briefly before diving again, forcing his eyes open, letting his senses take over.

With a sinking heart, he searched for the glowing target. He broke for air, dove again, found nothing. One more time, two, three, six, ten, until he was so exhausted he could hardly keep his head above water when he came up for air. Altaïr's voice was raw from calling but still he managed again, this time weaker, but it echoed nonetheless. His chest heaved, he fought back the rising panic that threatened to undo him. Altaïr's eyes stung but he dove again, his second sight nearly shattering, then focusing on the golden hint that lit a flicker of hope in his chest.

When he reached the shore his hope was snuffed out like a candle.

The girl was unresponsive, her hands cold and clammy, as if she had been in the water for hours, though Altaïr had scored the water hundreds of times without seeing a single life form. By now Malik and a few of his brothers had come to the shore, and as Altaïr crawled, fatigued beyond measure, sodden and shivering, and collapsed barely out of the water, he felt hands grip his arms and pull him to the dry stability of land.  He coughed up water he didn't remember swallowing, feeling the need to retch up whatever else may have been in his stomach. For the first time in so long, Altaïr felt sick with grief and hopelessness. 


	9. The Funny Man

The funny man wrung his hands together fitfully as he paced around the strange room. Sef curled himself into a tight ball as he watched him, wishing there was some type of corner that he could properly hide in, but as he looked around the room with it's many buzzing noises and strange lights, he saw no such corner in existence.

The other man had not left his spot from the door. He kept staring at Sef, a sad and distant look in his eye that the boy was surprised he recognized. His father had never given him that look, nor his mother or his brother. He'd never seen that look from Malik or Sabir or Rauf, but somehow he knew it. It made Sef wonder what it was that made the man sad.

This, coupled with the pacing man was enough to settle his fears in replace for curiosity, but he dared not move from his spot. He didn't know if his legs could handle carrying him.

"How did you get in here?" The pacing man, the one that would wring his hands spoke first, and though it seemed a question directed at him, Sef couldn't tell. He blinked and looked at the other man in askance.

The boy found no help from him and he swallowed. "I… I fell. From a balcony… I… I don't…" He felt a tear roll down his cheek and he stifled a little sob. Mother and Father had been arguing again, he remembered. He remembered wanting to hide then, too. He didn't like it when his parents fought, with anyone. The last thing he remembered before waking up here was his father, leaping to save him. Sef wondered if he would ever see them again; Mother and Father and his brother. "I want to go home." He heard himself whisper as he buried his face in his knees.

One of the men's footsteps sounded as they came close to where he had been found. "Hey, shhh, it's okay." It was the funny man again. Sef looked up and the man offered a reassuring smile. "Promise."

Sef found himself nodding slowly, wiping the tears out of his eyes. 

"Now come on, let's get you in bed, kiddo, you look exhausted." He was crouched a few feet away from him, and as he reached out with his hand in an offering to help him up Sef shook his head doubtfully, though the mention of sleep made a yawn creep into his throat. 

"Who are you?" Even the man at the doorway seemed surprised by his sudden boldness, he raised his eyebrows, his jaw slightly slack so that his lips were barely parted.

The funny man only smiled, and he saw a familiar sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "I'm the Doctor." He pointed to the man at the door. "That is Rory," then he rested a finger on Sef's chest. "But who are you?"

"Sef, son of Altaïr." He puffed his chest out, trying his best to sound confident though on the inside he was crying, shaking still. He told himself that he wasn't afraid anymore, Father and Darim wouldn't be afraid. He stood slowly, glancing at the funny man, the Doctor, before coming up to the one he named Rory. The door he stood in front of was slightly ajar, and he could just make out the market that his mother would sometimes take him to.

Sef smiled in relief. He had never left home. _Mother must be worried sick,_ he thought, _I have to tell her that I'm alright._ Without thinking, Sef pushed past the stranger and into the market. It was oddly quiet today, but he brushed it off and looked to the citadel above. He could already see his father's relieved face. He imagined Darim punching his shoulder, telling him not to scare the family like that again. Mother would hug him. Malik would scold him, and he could already feel Sabir ruffling his hair.

Sef trudged upward, the emptiness of the path slowly sinking in. Father would explain it, he knew, once he got home. He looked up and stopped dead in his tracks.

He had no home to go back to. His home was in ruins and all of his hope was a pile of rubble now. Sef felt a sob push at his throat and his knees felt wobbly, shaking until they collapsed from under him. The sudden realization left his chest so tight that it ached, tears welled in his eyes and he blinked them back with a quiet sniffle. 

Suddenly, Sef felt the emptiness of the town as clearly as he did the beating of his own heart. He was alone.

A hand touched his shoulder.

"I live here," Sef said quietly. "Mother used to take me down to the market sometimes." The man stayed silent and Sef felt his lip quiver. "She would always get me and Darim a treat when she went out."

"I'm sorry," the man spoke so softly Sef turned his head to catch his words. The one called Rory, then. "I understand how you must feel—" his words seemed to catch in his throat and this time Sef did look.

The boy wanted to scream at him, and tell him that he didn't know, that he could never know, but all his anger and sorrow died on his tongue when he looked at him. Something told him he could trust this one, Rory.

"We… the Doctor and I, we'll get you home, I promise. We'll get you back to your mum and your dad."

"You swear by it?" Sef searched the man's face, watched as a level of fondness breached his sad eyes.

"I swear on my honor, you will see your family again." Rory shoved his hands in the pockets seated at the front of his pants. "You used to live here?"

Sef nodded and looked up at the castle; his home.

"What was it like? I mean, before… this happened."

"Father used to take me up there sometimes," Sef pointed to a tower that had become little more than a pile of rocks, but he remembered how tall it used to be, he still felt the wind in his hair. Mother was going to have it cut, his hair. She said that it was getting too long for a little boy. "We could see the whole world from up there. Everyone looked like ants running across the ground."

Something flickered at the corner of his eye, but when Sef turned to look at it fully, it was gone. As if by instinct, his vision went blue, and the golden woman was there with them. She was looking at Rory, though the man did not seem to notice. _You let me fall,_ Sef accused.

The golden woman looked down him, something in her face softening. _Had I not known the TARDIS would save you, you would still be with your father. You are safe with these men._

 _But I want to go_ home _!_

"Sef?"

He didn't pay Rory any mind, even as his vision blurred and his sight returned to normal. He stared at where he knew the golden woman was.

_There is work to be done, child, and once it is done you may go home. Now go with this man._

"No! I want to go home, _now_!" Rory jumped at his outburst, and only then did Sef realize he had forgotten to be silent. The boy met the man's shocked eyes and shrunk back, an apology bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. The woman remained silent, and even though Sef couldn't see her he could feel her anger.

"Who are you talking to?"

Sef could feel the gold woman's presence shift, he tried to ignore it as best as he could. "The… I don't know her name,"

The man knelt beside him, a hand coming up to grasp his arm gently. Sef let his eyes adjust into the blue vision again, feeling better knowing that Rory was not red. "What does she look like?" Sef heard the hope that not even his eyes were showing.

"She… she is gold. I can't see her, not all the time, but she talks to me, in here," Sef pointed at his head. "She told me I couldn't go home, but you and the funny man… the… the Doctor, you'll take me home, right?"

Rory's eyes dropped to the ground, the corners of his mouth sinking in a frown. "Yeah, we'll get you home. I told you we would."

"Can we go see the funny man now?"

"No, I don't think the funny man is that funny. Why don't we see this golden woman of yours?"

Sef jumped, turning around to see the funny man standing behind him. Even the golden woman seemed surprised to see him. _You must not tell him that I am here,_

"Who is this friend of yours, Sef, son of Altaïr?" The Doctor smiled as he said Sef's name, crouching down in front of him. "Why are you the only one who can see her?"

Sef looked at his hands, picking at his fingers. "Father thinks that she is just imaginary, but I don't think she is my friend. She won't let me go home."

"I'll get you home, don't worry." The Doctor pulled something out of his pocket. "I'm going to point this at you, and I want you to look at the light, can you do that for me?" Sef caught the puzzled look that Rory gave the Doctor and eyed the strange stick in the funny man's hand.

"Will it hurt?"

"No, not at all," he smiled again. "Promise."

with one last look at the stick, Sef nodded and the end began to glow, a loud buzzing sound coming from it. He flinched away at first, the buzzing making him want to cover his ears and the foreigness of the strange thing ultimately causing him to whimper. He didn't look away, though, as much as he wanted to he was too curious to tear his gaze away.

In all the light and the buzzing lasted only seconds, and when it stopped the funny man's face became grave. "Rory, take Sef back to the TARDIS,"

Sef swallowed, finally allowed himself to shrink away from the Doctor as Rory straightened.

"Is something wrong?"

The Doctor shook his head, eyes never leaving his stick. "I know where we are. And what we're dealing with."

_The Doctor only knows a fraction of the truth. You must help him to see it all._

_What am I to do?_ Sef had nearly forgotten the golden woman was there. She was looking at him.

_Dream._


	10. The Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait. This chapter was harder to write as I was unsure where I was going with it at first.

"How long has it been?"

"She has not woke since Altaïr pulled her from the water. She hasn't shown any signs of harm, so I just let her sleep."

"You should have come to me first."

"You were not needed at the time."

"What would have happened now that you would need me? … Malik?"

"It… she asked for you."

Amy stared at the door as the voices became hushed. There were a new set of footsteps and then a new voice joined the two that had been standing there. "Is she awake?"

This new one sounded tired, but familiar, like she had heard him before.

"Altaïr, I do not think it is wise…" The door opened abruptly then, and the man who entered was not one that she recognized right away. He was, however, incredibly tired. Amy could see the dark circles under his eyes even from this distance, and as he got closer and the sunlight from the window caught his eyes, she narrowed her own. There was something… off about them that didn't seem right. She wished the Doctor were here, Amy knew that he would know the instant it happened. She wasn't quite so lucky. 

Malik followed him instantly, mouth open as if he were poised to say something, though either for the benefit of himself or her he quickly thought better of it. The other man didn't seem like he was going to listen either way. "How are you feeling?" Malik asked instead.

"Fine, thanks." Amy looked at the man standing directly in front of her for a brief second. "Who's your friend?"

"Who I am is of no concern. What is more important is who you are." His friend said, arms folding in front of his chest.

"You first," she copied him, in no mood to be pestered with. It wasn't every day that you fell from a tower and transported into another time period. She wanted her questions answered. "When is this? How did I get here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," the amusement was faked, the man was too tired for that. "And you have quite a bit of explaining to do before I answer any of your questions." The man had crouched beside her where she sat on the collection of cushions that served as a bed. Now that he was much closer she could tell that he was some type of Middle Eastern man, though she had caught his and Malik's accents fairly quickly, and Malik was clearly Arabic. The confirmation was more shocking than she expected. "Where am I?"

"Masyaf. Who are you?"

She felt a swell of triumph over the man, not expecting him to answer so readily. not when he had just said that he wouldn't. "Amelia Pond. Who are you?"

"Altaïr, son of Umar. Where are you from, Amelia?" The title seemed forced, as though he had not used it in some time, as if it stirred memories he'd not thought of in a long time.

"Scotland. Where's Masyaf, exactly?"

"You are an Englishwoman, then." It seemed more of an affirmation for himself than anything. "Masyaf is in Syria. You are a long way from your homeland. How did you get here?"

There was a falter in her determined look that wasn't there before, and Altaïr realized hopelessly that even she didn't know. "What I know sounds crazy, even to me. God knows what it'll sound like to you."

"Are you fit to walk?" He waited for her nod, then allowed himself a smile. "Come outside with me, then, and explain. Your story seems a long one."

He helped her up, only slightly regretful that they didn't have a spare room with a proper bed, but he wouldn't dwell on it. He needed fresh air in his lungs, and if what Malik said was true, the girl needed it more that he did.

"Do you think it is wise for her to… stand? To walk?" Altaïr gave Malik a withering look. 

"I do not have time to think about what is wise and what is not. The woman says she is fine."

"The woman was also unconscious for nearly two days," Maria put in and Altaïr let out a tired sigh. 

"The woman is also standing right behind you." Amy said, and Altaïr couldn't help but chuckle, seeing a lot of the same fire his wife had. "I'm fine. What harm can a little sun light do?"

"My thoughts exactly." Altaïr smiled and lead Amelia down the living quarters and eventually outside.

Amy felt instantly better once she stepped out into the sun, the warmth hitting her face and the smell of open air drifting into her nose. Though it smelled of sand and heat, it was like a cool blast of air from an air conditioner, the most refreshing thing she could have ever hoped for.

"Now, Amelia. How exactly did you find yourself in the water?" Altaïr broke her from her thoughts, and when she looked at him he had his hands clasped behind his back, looking at her with an intrigued expression.

Amy sighed. "It's a long story," she tried, though she was sure he would not take the answer well, she knew he would take her explanation worse.

"Then we will take a long walk." Came Altaïr's determined reply.

She let the silence linger for as long as she dared. "My husband and I… we travel with a man called the Doctor. He has the little box that can jump through time and space, and we landed on this tower. I saw something on the ground and as I looked over the edge… the boards gave under me and I fell. Something must have saved me, I don't know what or how, but the next thing I knew I was drowning."

Something had changed in his expression when she mentioned the TARDIS, eyes going wide briefly before he schooled his face, but it was enough for Amy. Altaïr knew something about the Doctor, whether he knew he did or not. "When I found you, you were scant of breath, and even worse for a pulse. You had death by your side."

Amy shivered. She'd been in the neck of danger before, but knowing that she had been so close to death filled her with a terrible sense of dread. 

"But what you propose is unbelievable at best. Time travel is done only in dreams, and then only in the past."

Amy felt her heart lurch in her chest as they walked down the hill, Masyaf coming into view now that they were free from the walls of the castle. She recognized the city, though the last time she had seen it, it was in ruins. Now it bustled with life and they were under a clear sky, the shadow of the tower that she'd fallen from crawling across the ground while the structure loomed before them. "I know it's hard to believe, I was skeptical at first myself." _But I was also a little girl._ "But the things I've seen… I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried."

"Tell me about this doctor of yours. Does he have a name?" And like that the subject changed, but Amy had the feeling that it had never been far from his mind.

"Not one that I know. He's just… the Doctor."

"A man who hides behind a title sounds like one with secrets." Amy glanced at him,  but he wasn't returning the favor. This box of his, with the three of you  it seems like it would be a tight fit."

"It's bigger on the inside." The way she said it was so conversational, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And it was to her. She had been traveling with the Doctor for the batter half of two years. She'd forgotten that this kind of stuff was normal to other people.

Altaïr was looking at her with wide, astonished eyes, his face unschooled and more open than she had ever seen it in the short time that she had known him. "How…" it was a quietly uttered word that she was sure she wasn't supposed to hear, and his jaw remained slack after he spoke it.

After a while he seemed to gather himself again. "It seems you have a bit more explaining to do."


End file.
